Saphhous

Chronicles

Well, here I am again, on the plane. Bound for Atlanta, about 90 minutes earlier than I was supposed to leave. J had to go in to work at 6 p.m., as opposed to 9, which is what he told me originally. So I was at the airport two hours before my flight was to leave — which is funny, because that's when they tell you to arrive, but I never get there before an hour till — so after strolling around the concourse, I decided to find my gate just for reference, and explore some more. En route to my gate, I saw another flight headed to Atlanta that was boarding at that very moment. I go up to the counter, tell the guy I'm flying standby for a later flight, and ask if I could hop on this one and get to Louisville earlier.

So here I am, in first class, living it up with my mini-pretzels. The only downside is I checked my bag, and it won't get to SDF (Standiford Field, Louisville's airport code — I think I fly too much) till 11 p.m. Guess I'll just have to roam the 'ville (slang for Louisville) for a bit ... Then arrive at the house my family is moving into as we speak.

As for my time in Florida ... Muy, muy bien! I'm very glad I went, I'm very glad i gave J another chance, of sorts. We seem to be in some type of relationship gray area, in which I'm in love with him and he says he's in love with me, but nothing is "official." Silly business anyway.

The long story of my trip goes as follows ...

I caught my SDF-ATL flight with no problem, and landed in Atlanta to find my connecting flight delayed from 10:31 to 11:10 p.m. It double-sucked because I got there at 9 p.m. So my too-long wait was even longer. (I'm a huge fan of 30 minute connections, even if I have to run from gate to gate). I landed in Tampa late, like 12:30 a.m. As planed, J and I crashed in a hotel Wednesday night (well, Thursday morning), a HoJo near the airport. We had an 11 a.m. checkout, so we went to sleep around 3 a.m. and got up at 8:30, left the hotel at 10 or so. We drove to Clearwater beach and spent only about three hours there, but even that was too much, if my sunburn is any clue. We stopped on the way to the beach to buy J trunks, because he couldn't find his and I wasn't letting him on the beach in cargo pants and a t-shirt. The beach was an interesting excursion because J (a.) doesn't like the sun, (b.) thinks the ocean is dirty and gross, (c.) is self-conscious and doesn't like to be in anything less than jeans and shirt, (d.) is whiny anyways. However, I have only been on the beach one other time in my life, and that was on Cape Cod, and it was cold and I was only in the water for two minutes before my lips turned purple. So I insisted. We sat outside, we played in the ocean, we sat, swam, sat, left. Burned, too. Mostly my backside.

We slept a lot, trying to allow our bodies to heal from some vicious burns, saw Omar and Illia ... yeah, that was Friday. Saturday J had to work, so I sat around with one of his roommates and watched about seven hours of non-stop TLC programming. Then went to Steak and Shake for a new side-by-side milkshake (mine: strawberry and orange freeze — very good).

Oh, we ate a lot too. Cracker Barrel today ... I had blackberry pancakes. Scrump-diddly-dumptious.

So maybe it wasn't the most exciting, eventful vacation, but it was with J and that's really all I wanted. He also demanded I write him a poem on the plane. Usually such forced writing doesn't work for me, but I had a lot to work with. For everyone else's reading (dis)pleasure:

your sand-covered foot,

	pale and thrust near

		my head

like I am your supplicant.

			(maybe I am.)



But your foot

	(pale beneath the sand)

humbles you.

		After all,

you're no more godly than I.

			

			(strange to think)

I'd give myself up to you

	a supplicant in the sand.

An earthly version of Ra,

	and me, bowed at your

pale, sand-covered foot.

What's this? Did Sappho's Leap bring back my polytheistic side? I think it did. This is poem number two since I finished the book, and both contain references to ancient gods. Guess so.

On the plane ...

Sometimes, when I finish a good book, I lose myself in its story. Sitting here on this plane, with crayon scribbles on the window, I feel more philosophical than usual. I feel, like Sappho with her songs, one day my stories will be remembered. It is quite unlikely, but believing in it is how I survive. I don't know what I want to write, only that it must tell the truth of the world. If that truth appears like one of Aesop's fables, so be it. If it is a news story that changes the world in some small way, even better. I adhere that the only way to achieve immortality is to be remembered long past your time. That is enough.

All the writers I have admired, and some I have not, have said a journalist's key is to be curious. The skill of writing comes to many, but coupled with immense curiosity in few. I would like to believe I have many. I desire to know how all things work — if I can't do them myself, I want to talk to the people who have. What I would give to spend my life traveling from place to place, spending time with different people, going to job sites and learning what others' lives are like. And my skill, I hope, is to share those stories. Not only do I want to spend time with taxi drivers who no English but the street names, waitress working midnight shifts at diners, pilots flying high above the clouds like a dream — I want to bring those stories to everyone else to.

But sometimes I wonder if I really have the skill. I like to give myself reason to believe I do — just look at my resume, I say. Look at the people who have failed at my job. But am I good or just lucky? I find my real encouragement in the people who read what I write, mill over it and remember, respond, learn. Not learn what I'm telling them, but learn something about themselves, about the world, about something they never thought about before.

I suppose many of you who tread this way don't expect such ramblings from me — I wax prophetic and wane profane. I will end this entry before I can ruin it.

Written during my flight on Wednesday.

Today.

Lounging around, waiting for J to get off work. Having a great time. More on all that later ... For now, read this. And laugh at me, and yourself, and many, many others.

Florida tonight!

Packed last night and this morning. Back hurts, I'm tired. Today's entry is two parts: read the below quote, then occupy yourself with the other recent entries people haven't commented on. Particularly the story intro. I'll write something good on the plane tonight.

I brought in my copy of my editor's book that came out in the early 1980s. He signed it for me thusly:

Brevity is the soul of wit. Alas, this book is 342 pages. Hope you'll like it anyway. — Des

Ack!

Well, not much time to write today. Or to think, for that matter. I had a few ideas of things to write, but I'm so overwhelmed by all the things I need to do today that I just don't have time to sit and think about them. To get myself in order, here's a list:

• Shopping run (B&N, CVS, find shirts somewhere)


• Snitch


• Jacob's to pick up drum machine


• Talk to Adam Matthew's guy about job (yup, a second one)


• Laundry


• Pack for Florida


• Pack for moving

More later ...

Oh, btw

I went to a press screening of Harry Potter: The prisoner of Azakaban, or whatever it was, last night. It was incredibly disappointing. Now I know why I neglected to go see the first two movies, even after loving the books.

Shoes.

So, my favorite (and most recently purchased) pair of shoes broke on Saturday. I was very upset. Having bought them only two weeks ago, I figured I could return them. They didn't have them in the same size, so I just went up a size and shrugged it off. The store manager also informed me that Memorial Day weekend is a "buy-two-get-one-free" sale! I can't resist. Fortunately, I'll be in Florida most of the weekend, so that'll keep me out of the store.

But my reasoning is, I'm almost guaranteed to buy three more pairs of shoes this summer. Why not do it now and get a pair free? (Thus creating room in my budget for a fourth pair later.)

I had a pretty laid-back (and by that I mean boring) weekend ... Well, Friday was fun — I spent the day proofing The Cardinal, U of L's newspaper, for Mallory. Then I played poker, which was pretty fun, until I got really tired. Saturday, my step-siblings showed up, their arrival unknown to me prior to their stepping foot into the door. I was a little aggravated. Then I had to sit around in my room all day (there were six people in the living/dining room — I wasn't going out there) until Robin's belated birthday party, which lasted 30 minutes. I then got the hell out of there. I tooled around on Hurstbourne Lane, not spending money (because my checks hadn't posted to my account), reading a book at B&N that I'm going to buy later today, hanging at Snitch, and then going to COB's for a bit. We went to dinner at this kinda ritzy place called Avalon, where I had the best salad of my life. Later, I demonstrated my (stomach's) ability to concoct delicious drinks, sat around, went home. And slept. Sunday I hung out at my dad's. That is all.

I fly to Tampa Wednesday evening, come back Sunday evening. I'm excited. J was talking about renting a hotel Wednesday night in St. Petersburg, so we can already be at the beach Thursday morning, but we'll see where that goes. It'd be awesome though. I'm really excited about going.

For now, however, I should do some more work. And eat lunch, because I'm stah-ving.

If there is one person you can't stop thinking about, post this same exact sentence in your journal.

After a decade, changes.

When I was a young'un, we were hog farmers. Harris Feeder Pigs was a family operation in Taylorsville, Ky., on a 92-acre farm. We usually had around 250 head, constantly rotating out — piglets were born, raised to market weight, sold.

We used a lot of our farmland to raise corn, which was fed to the pigs. It was a pretty self-contained operation. When the bottom dropped out of the market, we sold off the pigs, but much of the inner workings remain. There are grain bins, hog houses, grinders, trailers ... A lot of custom-made, hand-built equipment needed on a medium-sized hog farm.

Nearly a decade later, most of that stuff still remains. Sure, we sold some of it (combine, grinder, trailer) but a lot of it (houses, grain bins) remains. Recently, my father and grandfather began adapting the existing structures for other uses.

Most of it happened while I was away, both during the summer and while away at college. But at some point, a small grinder became a smoker grill and a grain bin became a guest house. The stories of these renovations are best told as compilations of family tales.

The intro to a piece I'm writing, hopefully for publication ... somewhere. Comments welcomed and encouraged. (Especially from my family members who I know read this.)

Jobs.

So I was at the movies last night, and I saw a friend from high school. He's worked at the theater for years, and is now a supervisor. I was really impressed by this, because what I've learned about high school grads with no career plan is they usually job hop, not staying with any of them long, and they're usually minimum wage gigs. But by sticking with the theater, my friend has earned raises and worked his way up ... instead of switching to McDonald's or something.

This also brought me to thinking about my own strange job history. I've weasled my way into three good jobs, and each time I try to make myself invaluable. I do my job, and then pick up whatever odds and ends I can. At The Magnet, I was a Web guru who became a writer/paginator/ad designer ... Well, The Magnet was a little crazy, but suffice it to say it was ran for some time by two 17-year-old girls. At Snitch, I was hired to write Zips and became part of the two-person Web team and a regular writer. The Metro hired me to ... proof/paginate/pre-press ... Yeah. That's my secret. Do all sorts of stuff and eventually they'll wonder how they got along without me before.

So in the midst of all this thinking, I remembered my Snitch interview. I showed up after attending a conference (where I had to talk about online high school classes), in a nice pantsuit, and Des sat me down in a chair. The office was a little crazy, and I sat in an office chair next to Des. He started talking to me, and suddenly three or four attractive guys in their 20s appeared and started badgering me. I was fielding questions from at least four people, and they were all sorts of questions. I finally escaped with a pile of police reports. I must say it was pretty intimidating, partially because Des and I were the only two sitting down. But they seemed like a fun group, and it turns out they really are. There's something about the Snitch staff that just really fits my personality. I could work there forever and be happy. (I think.)

Alright, that's enough reminiscing ... Sorry for such a strange post.

Color.

Well, in a fit of boredom last night, I decided it was time to redesign my blog. It'll be a while though, because I'm absolutely terrible at CSS. My new color scheme is going to be (my names for the colors): Hershey's cocoa chocolate, eggplant, moss (or maybe sage) and Icy Hot blue.

I'm also going to scrap the current title bar, since an appropriate size was never achieved. (I refuse to think people actually use resolutions smaller than 1048x768.) So the hell with it, I say.

I've been dabbling in InDesign for the past few days, for Snitch, and I've already decided (upon it's first launch), that I don't like it. But we'll see how it goes. Interface wise, it feels very Adobe and I don't like it. Oh well.

I'm starting to get pissed at the Metro, because I still don't have my paycheck. If it's not here today, there will be hell to pay, not to mention me.

Hungry, hungry Tracy is going to find some breakfast and bizzounce outta this hizzy.

Rain, rain, go away ...

It rained all night, too. The roads are wet — I can hear the cars splashing water as they speed past my house. I'm on the balcony, drinking coffee that sat on the burner too long, listening to the birds and cars and looking at the puddles in our yard. I wrote a vignette about those puddles once — it's floating around in the June archives, I think.

Today, I just decided, will be a good day. I don't know how, or why, but it feels like one. I'm going to work, then I'm going to find something fun to do that doesn't cost much. Oh! I could go ride dirt bikes in the mud. I'll keep that one in mind ...

I'm also going to help Mal with the orientation issue of the Cardinal, which I think is exciting. I mean, it's not my paper and I have no reason to help except for that I love Mal and want to help. She was stressing over it the other night, and I told her to remember she was the "best newspaper girl ever." She replied, "So are you. We're twins."

I suppose in a way, that's right. We've both worked in the newspaper biz for years — Mal for four, me for three. And we've never had any other job. Mal is saying she wants to work retail just so she can say she has. I'm thinking the same thing, and may go by the H-D store to see if they're hiring.

I've got to eat and such so I can get to work, so I'll leave with a little snippet I wrote last night. Da cvedanye.

Little me.

Some things just stick with you from childhood. For me, one in particular is a fear of monsters that live in the dark, particularly under the bed or in the closet. (Well, the closet is where the mummies hide.)

When I was little, I would combat this fear in a very careful manner. If my lights were off and I needed to get up and go to, let's say, the kitchen, I would first crouch in bed. I would, of course, not look under the bed to see if there were monsters (in particular, vampires). I would leap from the foot of my bed to the door (thank God I had a small room), land and come up hitting the light switch. Then I would throw open the door, jump down the hall to the bathroom (again, thanks to my small house), turn on that light, walk back to my room and turn my light off, go from the bathroom to the end of the hall to turn on the hall light ... The hall light provided enough light to make it to the kitchen, although I was always afraid of the kitchen window I had to pass. For whatever reason, I always thought I would see a very scary witch peering at me. (I'm sure that comes from where ever the vampire-under-the-bed and mummy-in-the-closet came from.)

My glow-in-the-dark My Little Pony pajamas were always a lot of help, too.

Dreams.

I woke up in the middle of a dream this morning. I was involved in an FPS match in my dad's driveway. I only remember one of my teammates, and that was Adam; the other team was farther up on the driveway and I'm not sure who they were. Later our match was in my elementary school gym. Jon Saderholm was there as our coach, I think. He may have been in the driveway, too.

I think it may have just been my brain pointing out things I missed, or miss now. It was kind of an ideal situation, where my friends and hobbies were all in one spot. It could have a deeper meaning, I suppose, but I doubt it.

I also, strangely enough, busted out my tarot cards last night and did a reading for the first time in nearly a year. I feel like I should get back into Wicca this summer, now that I'm near grass and trees, and all those things that speak to me. The Cherokees believed God lived in trees; I would have to agree, but add the gods live in all living things, and a few that aren't living, too.

Well, it's later in the morning than it usually is when I come out here, and it's really sunny. Plus the neighbors are outside downstairs, and it's kind of obnoxious. I guess I'll go get ready ...

9:32 a.m.

Silly boys.

There are some things girls want guys to do, but can't actually tell them to do, because that would ruin the whole thing. Here, for instance, are some cutesy scenarios I'd like to see happen. (Note: offering to do any of them also violates the whole concept — it's a surprise thing.)

• Skip out of work early to meet me at the airport — this requires getting there before my plane lands — and bringing flowers.


• Taking me places (preferably ones I'll like) without telling me where we're going.


• Picking me up stupid stuff like candy when you're out somewhere.


• Calling me in the morning to say hi and wish me a good day; or waking me up to say bye if you're leaving.

I thought I had a lot more than that, but those four are good enough for now.

6:12 p.m.

Stormclouds and rainbows.

I was just witness to the most beautiful storm ever. The wind blew the rain across the fields in sheets; you could see the grass ripple like waves. It beat down, fiercely, for maybe five minutes, then blew itself onward, leaving only light rain pattering across the cars and puddles, and a rainbow. It's been so long since I've seen a storm, much less a rainbow. Wish I could have shared it with somebody.

7:01 p.m.

Pop-tarts

Pop-tarts make me angry. They're so good, but such a rip-off. You go out, spend $3 on a box of them, thinking "these are going to be so good." Then four days later, they're gone. It's depressing — suddenly, there are no more pop-tarts in the box, but it's only Wednesday and you're not planning on going back to the grocery till Friday, or maybe not even till next Friday.

Damn you, frosted vanilla creme pop-tarts.

My Nikon manual has disappeared. I have the bag and two lenses at my house, but the camera and other lens is gone. It's at one of J's houses. The question is, which one? I miss my camera. Maybe it'll turn up in Florida when I'm there next week, if not, then I'll have to go to S'matthews.

I've been tired for days, but I've gotten enough sleep. I wonder what's up with that. Also, my parents make terrible coffee. I don't know what's wrong with it, but it tastes terrible.

Well, I have an hour before I'm supposed to leave for work, so I'm going to read The Bean Trees by Barbara Kingsolver. The author is from Eastern Kentucky, and all she wanted in life was to get away from rural Kentucky. According to a bio from Writer's Almanac, "Ever since Kingsolver had left home for college she had been trying to get rid of her Kentucky accent and strange speech expressions, but as she worked on her novel she realized that those were the things that made her writing unique, and she tried to recapture them in the voices of her characters." The Bean Trees is about a similar situation.

My CO201 professor had asked me about Kingsolver one day, and I had never heard of her. Once I read the snippet above, I realized Kingsolver and I had some things in common. So I bought two of her books.

9:58 a.m.

Crappy Mondays.

Oh, if there was ever a Garfield kind of Monday, this would be one. It started off so innocent and sweet — I didn't have to go into work till noon. I wouldn't have much to do once I got there, either. No big plans for the evening. No stress, I thought.

I wake up at 8:30 a.m., which I considered "late" after rising at 7 a.m. most of last week. I shower, dress, etc., get some coffee and pop-tarts (see other post from today). I read part of a very good book (again, see earlier post). I leave at 11 a.m., hopping into my car and rolling down the windows — it was a sunny, breezy 75-ish. Gorgeous weather. I pull out of the driveway, and as I drive down the road, I hear: thunk ... thunk ... thunk. I stop 500 feet from my driveway, turn into a driveway, wait for a car to pass, think to myself, "Well, if someone hits me, that takes care of this tire," and drive back to the apartment. Sure enough, a back tire is flat. Week-old roadkill flat.

My stepdad, ever helpful, runs down in a t-shirt, khakis and no shoes. He jacks up the Saturn, takes the tire off, spins it around some, and points at the big ass screw in my tire. "Cool," I say.

On to the spare. "About that ..." I think, but don't have time to say. A year ago, almost exactly, we figured this out. I have a spare, but it's in pieces. Not really much good, but it's still there anyways. I can't imagine what I would have to drive over to damage a tire more than that spare already is. So Paul, disgruntled, throws it back in the trunk, gets some shoes and drives off with my tire. He returns moments later (thank you, Smithy's) with a well-patched and aired tire.

I go to work. I'm there for two hours. At least I finally got a hub, which is really a switch but I never understood the difference anyways. And I found gas for $1.88 in Fern Creek.

I leave work, stop at my fave clothing store, still can't find a nice skirt; drive back to T-ville and get some ice cream from the new ice cream place; go to the high school for an hour and come home.

I fried quesadillas tonight. They were good. I was proud of myself for operating a real appliance, and making something edible. I'm going to have to become domesticated sooner or later.

It's Monday's like these that were meant for drinking.

Saturday night.

I'd like to briefly tell about my Saturday evening, doing so in snippets of discussion.

"I love Dolly Pardon. She is such a great songwriter." (Unbelieving snickers from the couch.) "Seriously, the breasts are just gravy." (The couch snickers uncontrollably.)

"I think they [points at Steak & Shake ad on television] should be held responsible ... It's a Saturday evening, people have probably been drinking, doing drugs, and they're going to want that milkshake." (Emphatic nods. Hell, I wanted a milkshake, too.)

"So you get in your car and [lots of car noises, ending with ...] BANG!" (I can see the testimony now, I say. COB sobs into his hands.) "I asked him where he was going, [sniffles] and he said he had to have a milkshake. I couldn't stop him."

"Don't you agree? ... We're addicted to their saturated fats and they should be held responsible."

8:26 p.m.

Wakey, wakey

For the first time in at least three weeks, I didn't set my alarm for the morning. I slept for 10 hours. Just woke up at 1:30 p.m. I have two stories to write today, neither of which I feel like writing. My room is cold and not a good writing space ... Well, maybe over here on my bed will be.

By the way, I feel grouchy and whiney. Grumpy, grumpy Tracy. However, my mom picked me up some stuff at the grocery yesterday that should make me feel better. Like Triscuits and cheese.

Anyways, I need some time to write and think, so I'm going to leave this post alone before I get all emo-esque.

Windy morning.

It's a bit chilly out here; Mom says it's supposed to storm. Go figure. It's also poker night, starting at midnight. I'm going to end up sleeping on someone's floor, I think.

So I upgraded to Panther yesterday. Oh, Mac. You do these things to me, taunt me with your GUI enhancements and flaunt your new additions and upgrades. I only did it because it was free. And now Safari doesn't work, but that's only on my computer. It's pretty strange. It tries to start up, then just closes. Hopefully I can get it fixed today, because I really don't like Firefox and I can't import my bookmarks.

However, there are two new eMacs and a new 20-inch iMac in the Snitch office, which puts our entire editorial staff on 10.3.3. Should be fun, because three people have never used OS X before. I sense a lot of fun today — yesterday we had to set everything up, which included moving people's offices (I now share my room) and getting upgrades installed. I've also been de-networked until Des buys a hub for my room, which he had better do today.

While I'm on the Snitch note ... The operation is really kicking some ass. The three year anniversary is later this summer, and at this time we have seven publications, and maybe two more before the summer is over. In Louisville, our readership is up to above 200,000. I like being part of the publication, because I've watched it go from one paper and one "extra" edition in Paducah, Ky., to being seven real, full editions. (Oh, please, Boston investor, start me a paper!)

So it's work, magazine stories, poker, Shelbie's birthday party, out with COB, magazine stories ... then I'm back at Monday. Happy Friday everyone!

Morning, sunshine.

I've woken up early two days in a row. It must have rained last night sometime during the six hours I was in bed. It didn't feel like rain when I came trouncing back in at 1 a.m. from a tracy/mallory excursion. It was quite the event. We gorged on Chinese food, told stories, made fun of the Mexicans sitting next to us (there were so many Mexicans in this Chinese place!) ... Then we jetted over to Target, tried on hats and shoes, and left. We visited a good friend of ours in his dorm, because he's an engineering major at Speed and they go summers. (Ick.) David said he was going to do his Calc homework and then we would go out, but Mallory and I were so obnoxious there was no way for him to get it finished. We were kicking off our sandals at the wall, she pushed me down the hall in a shopping cart, we took a bunch of paper towels and hung them out the window, then ran down the stairs to see how long it was, then threw an entire roll out another window so it would just roll across the yard. So David gave up.

Once safely ensconced in the Explorer for a trip to places undisclosed, David almost killed us a million times. Mallory and I dug through the back of the Explorer; she found a giant straw hat and I had on a Steak&Shake one. We were pretty ridiculous.

Other than that, not much going on here. Another pretty long day of work ahead of me. And all my JOE stories are due in a few days, and I haven't started any of them. Should really get on that. I just don't have the time, or the motivation. Whenever Pablo (the executive editor) reminds me to do something, it's in a really asshole-ish way. Which makes me even less inclined to do it.

There are two cats in my house and two outside. When I left, there was just one cat in the building. Crazy. One of the cats was just chasing a stray dog.

Time to get ready and get out of here. My stepdad just disconnected my horn so it'll stop going off on its own — whenever it gets really hot outside, the car gets really hot, and then when I start it, the horn goes off. Continuously, until the car cools down. The gas gauge flips around, too. But it's the horn I can't deal with. It went off for a solid two minutes in the Snitch parking lot yesterday.

Early morning.

I made it — I'm awake, clean and writing. I have my coffee, now what to write about? I'll comment first on how my brain has been automatically translating my thoughts into Russian. It's a little creepy, but it's a good thing, I guess. It would be way cooler if someone was around who could understand me.

I was watching a bird scuttle (yes, that's exactly what it was doing) across our yard. It was a species I'm unfamiliar with, I suppose.But then I lost it. Two ducks just flew overhead, flying from our pond to the lake.

Kentucky mornings are beautiful — right now it's in the mid-60s, crisp and clean and wonderfully sunny. Too bad in a few hours it'll be in the high 80s and muggy. Yes, I'm going to complain about the weather alot. We all do, but many people stay here anyways. I have mixed feelings about Kentucky. I really like it, I think, but I don't know where my place is yet. There's nothing for me in Louisville except for Snitch, but I don't want to write there forever. I could go write for the Frankfort AP bureau covering political junk, but I don't think that's what I want to write anymore. There's always Lexington, I suppose, but I don't know what print pubs exist down there (but there is another Snitch). But then again, I'm not even sure what I want to write anymore. I'll probably attempt to do several at once, just so I don't have to make a decision. (When faced with decisions, I try to just do everything. This is most applicable to eating — I just get all the food that looks good and eat all of it, instead of picking a single dish.)

While in Boston, it was very disturbing to me that there wasn't any wildlife. Not that I was surprised by it, even though I was somewhat, but it was just odd. Right now there is a cacophony of birdsongs; at night there are frogs, crickets, more birds ... But in Boston, zilch. No birds. How strange.

Now, as the semi-trucks rumble down the road, drowning out the birds, I'll leave. I have to get ready for work, and Mallory and I are going out tonight and we've both agreed to wear summer dresses. How fun.

An accent; working again

I used to really think I didn't have an accent. And maybe it just shows up when I'm around my family. But I've certainly noticed it in the past few days. In other Kentucky-related news, it's still 75 out. And that's after all the rain. The weather is ridiculous. It feels like it is already mid-June. I'm going to be drinking gallons of sweet tea every day — don't doubt it, I've already been drinking like 64 ounces.

I'm a little disgruntled because my schedule is all screwed up. I used to get up at 8 a.m., take a shower, get cleaned up, and have time to check blogs and write a post before going to class. Now I'm up at 8 a.m. and running out the door to get to work on time. So the question is, get up earlier or write at night? It's been said (by Roy Peter Clark) that good writers prefer mornings, because they have all day to invent excuses not to write. I suppose I'll try getting up earlier tomorrow and see how it goes. Have a cup of coffee, take the laptop outside, maybe ... We'll see.

I had a good day at Snitch today. I was there for five minutes before I heard Mat Herron say "fuck." I can't believe I started on a production day. Especially now that production day involves four editions. But all went well; I did some Web stuff and got started with the Zips. And I got an office. How strange. All to myself, for now. There's no room for me in the main room, and they finally realized no one was using the conference room on our side. So one guy (thank god, because he drove me crazy) moved into that room, and now one of the offices is open. It's not really big, but it's my own, which is pretty strange. I have to yell a little louder, but I think everyone can hear me. And I'm not in anyone's way. I may even move the zip table into there, if Des thinks that makes sense.

I worked five hours today — Des told me yesterday I would only be working 15-18 hours a week. Yeah, sure. It looks it.

I also called The Magnet today about writing some stuff for them. Should probably e-mail the editor tomorrow and let him know that includes freelancing. I don't really want to be in that office.

Alright, that's enough of my boring life. If I actually get out of bed early tomorrow, I promise a good, interesting post — I'll be sitting on the balcony gazing across the field and into the trees. It should be good.

Oh, Kentucky.

Saturday and Sunday kicked some ass. And now it's Monday. The first Monday of summer vacation. I should know about my job at Snitch this afternoon — all I want for the summer is to work there. But for now, I'm off to my high school and other places left long unvisited. More on my weekend later! (I can say, however, that Blue October fucking rocks.)

9:23 a.m.

See above.

I got my job at Snitch back. That's good, because I would have just shown up all the time anyways. Went by there today, after a trip to my high school and some stores. Bought heeled flip-flops and a dress ... Yeah, I know, it's weird. But it's 84 degrees out, 56 percent humidity (that's low for here; it makes it feel about 88 degrees), and it's getting ready to thunderstorm. So excited. I missed thunderstorms.

I've had at least 50 ounces of sweet tea today, to combat the heat. I also had a large strawberry limeade. Right now I'm working on a 32 ounce tea that cost .59. I love it when the convenience stores start selling fountain drinks really cheap for the summer.

As for the weekend ... Got a little lost in Cincinnati, but made it to Blue October in time. They were once again awesome, and I chatted with Ryan (the violinist) again after the show. He offered to buy me a drink, which would have been cool had I not been driving. Hopefully I'll get to catch them while I'm in Texas.

4:27 p.m.

Aeroplane.

So, here I am, rocking out in first class. There really isn't anything better than flying for free and schmoozing it up in first. I'm kinda tired, pretty hungry ... I got so stressed out earlier that I didn't even feel like eating. (No, that doesn't happen often.) I thought I could check three bags, but it turns out I can only check two. So I checked the two big ones, walked over to a table, put down my small duffle, my laptop case and my backpack, and managed to free up enough space in the backpack for the laptop case. Problem solved, much to my delight. Thankfully, though, Dan was there, which kept me from totally stressing out.

I have a two hour layover to look forward to ... At least I can find some food. Then it's a 20 minute flight to tha 'Ville, then a 30 minute drive home, then a 90-120 minute drive back to Cinci. It's quite the evening. By the time I get home for good, I'm going to be so exhausted. But I'm so excited about this concert, and about seeing someone who I haven't seen in nearly a year.

Then tomorrow I'm going to the Saderholm's. Always, always fun. Need to go see the folks on the farm, too. And I'm waiting to here back from Des to find out if I'm going back to Snitch this summer. If I'm not, I have no idea what I'm doing. I'm a little worried, but I don't think Des will tell me know. Besides, I've heard things are pretty crazy there, so they probably need me. Right?

I'm going to backdate this entry so it appears I'm putting it up right now, but it'll probably really be Sunday when it goes online. To all my friends at school ... See you in a few months! How could I not be excited about a four month summer vacation?

Leaving.

It's getting close to time. Time, that is, for me to actually get the hell out of here. I still need to pack my alarm clock, my towel, a sheet, and the clothes I'm wearing now (which are wicked dirty). I can't believe I got everything packed. I have to tell Adam bye, take my boxes downstairs, get cleaned up ... Oh, and eat. I'm pretty hungry. Then, at 1:30 p.m., I'll be out of here.

Thank you to everyone for the memories — if you're reading this post, I probably like you. I'm not worried about saying good bye, because it's just a summer. We'll be back in no time. And I'm sure I'll talk to everyone on AIM.

My final night on the floor was pretty awesome. Here's a pic of me rockin' out in an ugly ass, too big trucker hat that I'm in love with. Oh, and Neal's leather jacket.

The end.

Well, I'm done with school. It's officially summer. But now I've started packing, and I'm not sure at all how my stuff is getting home. I think I could check most of it on the plane, but then I have some boxes to store at Baer's and I'd probably have to store another one.

Yup. Definitely storing a box. My head hurts and I'm frustrated. Back to packing.

Happy Russian-final-day.

Twenty-five minutes till go-time. I'm so tired of studying and so anxious I'm making myself sick. There's so much to review that I'm overwhelmed and I just want to sleep until it's time to take it. At this point, I'm really only worried about the essay on Vistrel. I'm going to put up a couple pictures of me later, once I have time to resize them for the Web. Sorry, morndry, you've already seen 'em. In fact, I'm only putting them up because they looked so cool as your desktop. See what you've done?

More after the final. Unless I die, sitting there scribbling about metros and chicken and sports and duels.

Slava Bogu, eta nochti konchaetcya. (Thank god this is almost over.)

10:25 a.m.

... Over.

The sun filtered through the high windows in our basement room as we took the Russian final. The sun glinted off the pencil on my paper, exposing glittery flakes like Chalcopyrite. It was enough to make me forget about the translations in front of me.

In other words, the test was ... I guess better than expected. I didn't remember things I never remember, and I didn't forget much. Probably in the B range. Good 'nuff, God said, smiling down at me. Well, it was my pride that said that, but the two are pretty closely related in my book.

Now to make my cheat sheet for Logic ...

2:16 p.m.

My dad.

Sometimes odd things happen that remind me of home. Such an event occurred today while I was on my way to work. As I walked down the sidewalk, I noticed a young man, somewhat chubby, baby face and short goatee. He had on plain wire-frame glasses, a leather newsboy cap and a black leather biker jacket. He's also wearing faded, biker-eque blue jeans, which are tucked into boots. Knee-high lace up black leather boots. I've never seen such a thing on anyone but strippers and hookers. They were skin tight with the rawhide colored laces often put on work boots (like Timberlands). And they laced up to the knee.

As soon as I noticed them, I could just hear my father chuckling in my head. In fact, my imagination even created a picture of him giggling and nudging me.

I'll be home in a few days, and then my dad and I will have plenty of opportunities to make fun of people. Hooray.

8:08 p.m.

Finals.

Not much going on today — I absolutely have to study for my Russian final. (It's tomorrow.) I think I'll study from 2-5 p.m., take a break till after dinner, then start back up from 7-10 p.m. Picked up my profile (the aforementioned "Sanity and sausages") today; got a 95 on it, which secures my A for the course.

Went by the Russian house again, this time to take some pictures, so here they are:
Sign.
Front.
Staircase.

it's

	new!

(haven't you

heard)?

	getyoursnow.

	limited.

scheme,scheme,scheme.

another  new!  idea.

have one?

	we'll pay you

(in cash) no.

ours. (it's new!)

getyoursnow.

... before ... it's

 too ... late

,over,

	new!

6:40 p.m.

I spy ...

In the elevator moments ago, I saw: an empty ziplock bag, a bobby pin, a small drug-sized ziplock bag and a sticker from a banana.

Still trying to learn Russian. Feeling stressed. Could use a backrub.

9:59 p.m.

blue october.

Last night I went to see Blue October with Adam. Originally I was only going because he needed someone to accompany him, and he was so excited about it that I just wanted him to be happy. (What can I say, sometimes I'm a good person.) But then I started listening to them and they're incredible.

So last night I saw:

A collection of instruments, seven guitars, three violins, an electric mandolin, a keyboard, a drum kit and a bass.

A lead singer with a short mohawk and sultry eyes, singing with more passion and displaying more charisma than I thought possible.

A very sexy blonde bassist who grooved and played so sensually I couldn't take my eyes off her.

A guitarist who did nothing but play beautifully, and had a stage presence all his own — quiet, but very into his music.

A drummer with long hair and wearing a flannel shirt who never missed a beat and pulled the band together.

A mandolin/keyboard player/violinist with his hair spiked into devil horns and wearing sunglasses, whose violin playing made my heart nearly burst.

I've never been so enthralled by a band. Afterwards, Adam and I snagged posters off the walls and got them signed. THe bassist, Piper, was really nice; the drummer was downing scotch; the frontman running around with his girl; the guitarist still quiet but nice; Ryan, the violinist, told me if I started playing, not to give up for at least five years.

I may go home a day earlier so I can go see them in Cinnci.

Ramblings.

I'm feeling really unmotivated today. Same was true for Thursday, Friday and Saturday. I did, however, try to read logic both Friday and yesterday. And today, but today it put me to sleep. Then I decided to just read the condensed version we received in class. Today I also got out all the stuff to study for both my finals (Russian on Wednesday, logic on Thursday), looked at it, wrote some stuff down, and then stopped.

My chest is sunburned from being outside yesterday. Kinda hurts. It's warm here again, but it looks to my country eyes like it's going to storm in about 30 mins. Oh, wait, it's already started. Damn, I'm good. Growing up in Kentucky is good for something, I guess. I can't smell the rain in my room, though, which is pretty depressing.

I went and saw the Russian House on Friday; it's swanky. Cream walls with teal trim and new teal carpet. It must've been revamped in the last year or so. I'm hoping to go take pics sometime this week. My room is a single in the corner on the front, so I look at the other brownstones across the street (and not the back of some other ones). I have a fire escape out my window, which means I have a balcony, right beside a tree. It's grand. I haven't actually been inside my soon-to-be room, but I saw one of the doubles. The girl I know who already lives there is at the end of my hall. It's going to be the nicest place I ever live — and I get to live there for three years, if I want to.

Hopefully Adam and I are still going to the Blue October concert tonight. Other than that, I don't have much to do today. I think I'll make my cheat sheet for logic later. Yeah, I really should.

JOE Magazine came out, it's full of typos but looks good. The .pdf version should be up later this week — after we (and by that I mean I) make corrections to the pages. I'll make sure to announce it when the full version is up. I'll also be .pdf'ing my stories separately so I can put them up here. However, I think "Sanity and sausages" (linked in a post below) is better than any of my JOE pieces for the first issue. I'm sending out my query letters tomorrow for it. (So read it and tell me if it's any good before I get rejected hardcore.)

Derby day.

Next year, I'm going home for the Derby. Right now I should be eating and watching the early races, but I'm here in my room instead. Bummer.

My picks for the past few weeks have been Tapit and St. Averil, but St. Averil dropped out yesterday. So Tapit it is. Currently a 5-1 co-favorite (with Smarty Jones). I think Tapit can go the distance (review his Wood Memorial win), but I don't know how he'll do on a sloppy track.

A very sloppy track. It's raining all day today in Kentucky. Here's a picture of Churchill Downs this morning:

Well, I guess I'll try to be productive before the race. I say that like the race is soon — it's still five hours away.